


Lullaby of the Broken

by infxrmus (infirmus)



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Family, Feels, Gen, Marriage, Novel based, Time Travel, Unwound Future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infirmus/pseuds/infxrmus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Claire miraculously survives the time machine explosion, but the incident has left terrible distress in her system—eventually becoming a disease that would challenge her team’s scientific pursuit and, more importantly, her relationship with Hershel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (based on The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger)

**CLAIRE. April 1945.**

“Ms. Foley?”

_What?_

I stood in the middle of the fixated tube that occupied the time machine’s interior. The stationed pilot was only visible from the small glass window, placed just near the edge of the launch post a few feet away from where I stood. I squinted into the window, and signalled that I didn’t get the message.

“Headgear on, please, Ms. Foley.”

“Oh.” I released the helmet from its lock and put it on. I reclosed the clasp and from there I began feeling nauseous. The machine seemed to sway, and sure enough, it did.

“Initial motor check, with the passenger.”

I shook my head. The voice was obscured by several beeping noises coming from both outside and inside the machine. Eventually they clashed and began reverberating painfully in my head. The engines from behind me whirred restlessly—bronze gears screeched as the several exterior locks clattered into place.

“Motor check . . . successful. We’re just making . . . safety tests before launch.”

_What?_

The longer I wore the helmet, the more difficult things became to hear, thankfully it also covered most of the machinery noise. I stood as firm as I could, desperately trying to slow my heartbeat down my putting my hands over my chest in hopes to ease my breathing. I was given a medical run-through just before the test, including all necessary stabilization processes. I couldn’t help but wonder if this might have been worse if I hadn’t gone through those . . .

_Breathe, Claire. Breathe._

Another beep coming from the inside, this time so loud it pierced right through my helmet, trumping all the other noises. My ears buzzed and my hands trembled. I felt the hair on my skin raising. My chest tightened even more. _Perhaps it would be better if they gave me anaesthetics instead?_

“Launch . . . two minutes. Begin . . . countdown.”

 _Two minutes?_ That seemed enough time to calm myself down as I needed to, so I did exactly that.

“ _. . . Claire. Be safe._ ”

_Hmmm? Was that . . .?_

“Initiating launch.”

I heard the propeller whirl, and the world around me spun just as so. Everything else was a blur of black and white, made worse by a burning smell that eventually grew too strong that my tongue got numb from its taste and the ear-splitting rattling of the engine just below where I was, making my legs tremble. I held the rails inside the launch tube and closed my eyes.

Glass began shattering, first bit by bit, then shattering all at once. It was the observation window. Smoke coming through it from the outside caused me to choke and cough. I couldn’t get even a glance of what was outside—everything was moving too fast, and the rest of my body was numbing itself down. My head throbbed harder and my legs barely held up.

My ears rang once more. More wind and smoke rushed into the machine, filling it almost completely. I didn’t dare open my eyes. I couldn’t. But I didn’t need to—that is, to know that a door had been flung open by the force. Another beep cut through all the noise.

I gasped, and quite painfully.

The shutdown valve had been triggered.

**HERSHEL. April 1945.**

“Oh, good afternoon! That is a lovely hat, Mr. Layton,” the jeweller greeted. “Hmm . . . or should I say, Professor Layton?”

“Good day, lad. Thank you. . . Well, I suppose word does travel quickly.” I turned in a subtle smile. “But it seems too early for formalities.”

The young jeweller shrugged. “Still, it has a nice ring to it.”

“Ah! Ring . . .” That, I found, was a really clever coincidence. _I suppose it isn’t so bad to just cut to the chase every once in a while._ “Yes, a ring, speaking of which,” I told him, hovering over the rows of precious jewellery encased in glass.

He glanced intently at the top hat. “Did I hear right? A ring?” He asked, looking quite delighted, grinning at me. “So you’ve made up your mind about this, sir? When would this be?”

“Actually, I was planning later at dinner. . .”

“Ahhh . . .” He squinted. “Well . . . I suppose I know one . . .” The lad began skimming the displays and before I could even respond he was already holding a quaint velvet box. He set it down before me and opened it—and inside was an intricate silver ring, molded with detail along the outside, and decorated with a tiny pink pearl in the center.

I held the ring and for a moment I knew I felt a familiar warmth buzz through.

How the young lad managed to pick a piece spot on in such little time was beyond me . . . I supposed he knew me too well. Perhaps he already knew the lady I would be giving it to. I looked at it once again. My God . . . It’s perfect. Too perfect . . . perhaps even too good to be true. But, dear me, was it really the time to be cynical of things?

“What do you think, sir?” He grinned once again.

“Why . . . I think that’s it, lad.”

“Excellent!”

He took the box and wrapped it in a sheet of patterned fabric. A white silk ribbon sealed the package. Before I paid for it, he asked, “Well, I hope you don’t mind me asking, dear sir, but did she like the pocket watch?”

I nodded. “Oh yes, she did indeed.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied, handing me the small wrapped box, in which lay another gift for her—for Claire.

“I suppose I should go now. Thank you so much. Until next time, my boy.”

“I’m honored . . . Professor.”

I walked back to the house, gift in hand, and top hat on. _Like a true gentleman._

The weight of the ring was light, but a pang of uncertainty made it feel heavier than it was. This gift was different. I might have argued with myself saying it was just another small token, but a token nonetheless, and . . . a symbolic one, just like the pocket watch I had given her. It wasn’t so puzzling, not as puzzling as before, thanks to the good lad, who caught on quickly enough.

Well, the real puzzle, it might seem, did not lie in the ring itself, but how Claire would take everything. What could she possibly say? We had talked about this, somehow, although quite shyly, a few weeks ago.

_“Hmm . . . you mentioned something about plans, Hershel?”_

_“Plans! Ah, of course. . . Plans . . .”_

_“Would you care to tell?” She gave me a sweet smile once again._

_“I was thinking, perhaps, after I get into the university . . .”_

We hadn’t talked about _this_ ; the topic of . . . _marriage_ came about in subtle hints, like stray puzzle pieces. We only managed to discuss my admission into the Gressenheller faculty, her pursuing a medical degree, and . . . today’s experimental run.

From there my thoughts lingered. I thought of where Claire could be right now, or even when. My heart beat grew faster. I glanced at the little velvet box in my hand, and held it tight. I adjusted my hat, a gift from Claire when she visited earlier this day, as I thought of her and what she had told me: _“Very dashing, Hershel. The picture of a true gentleman.”_

Oh, what I’d do, to make sure my dear lady is safe. Right now, more than anything, I wish for her safety.

 _Be safe, Claire._ I whisper to the wind.

Although lost in a vast sea of thought and possibility, I proceeded to stroll along the London streets, praying and hoping.


	2. Chapter 2

**CLAIRE. April 1955.**

Thump. Thump. Beep.

_The shutdown valve had been triggered . . ._

Beep. Beep. _Thump._

_I opened my eyes but when the light appeared it stung. My face felt prickly hot, and I could tell I was covered in sweat. My headgear was missing; I assumed its lock must have snapped. So underneath my head, instead of the headgear cushion I felt a warm but damp surface. I breathed in; fortunately the smoke was no longer around—and no gusting wind, either, for that matter. There was only exhausting heat and the familiar smell of . . . grass._

_I fell onto grass. Thank goodness._

_I tried moving my limbs and I knew immediately that they’ve been bruised, perhaps even scraped from a fall. Every attempt to move, to even just twitch, brought about enough pain to not be dismissed. I groaned, and sure enough, it felt more burdening than it should._

_This state of utter discomfort made my mind a clouded mess. I couldn’t think of what to do next; to wait for the aching to subside or grab something to fix myself? The machine had a compartment for first aid, which would be useful if it was still anywhere around—I’d have to find out, I suppose. And aside from getting myself fixed the only thing I wanted to do was get up and figure out what had happened._

Not yet _, my body protested. I needed to know where I was but I couldn’t; it got worse because even the smallest glimpse I could muster only gave way to blinding light._

_. . . So what do I do? How am I supposed to—_

_“CLAIRE!” A distant voice called to me. I didn’t move; for some reason my instinct found no reason to be alerted. It could have been anyone, but it knew—I knew—it was . . . familiar._

_So . . .who was that, really?_

_“Claire!” The voice seemed to get closer. I breathed in, tried opening my eyes again so I could see whom it was, and finally I was able to, though just merely peek. The sunlight stung, but I didn’t mind that for now. I just needed to see. . . just . . ._

_“I’ll be right there!”_

_. . . Hershel?_

**HERSHEL. April 1955.**

Ah, surely I recall this day. This was the day you got sent here from your time machine test run, the day when all of . . . _this_ started. Strange, how time flies. It’s been ten years. But everything that has transpired so far continues to puzzle me. We’ve both had our own share of adventure, but what I’m most thankful for is that no matter what may come by, we somehow still manage to find our way to each other.

It’s true . . . every puzzle does have an answer; some puzzles just take a tad longer to find a solution to. And I thank you, my dear, for making sure I never forget that.

_“Lucky for me, every puzzle has an answer. Isn’t that what you always say?”_ Yes, it is, and because of you, I have grown to believe in it even more.

Time—it has always fascinated us both, hasn’t it? You loved telling me stories about the paradoxes surrounding time, and its companion, space. Most of them were, put in your terms, complex scientific conquests, and the rest were pleasant memories I never tire of looking back to. One thing I was sure of, I enjoyed hearing them from you. Although some days we don’t get to talk as often as we used to, every day I look forward to seeing you again, that we may share more of these stories and just be with one another. Every day.

My dear, it’s almost time. I must go now, for you should arrive any minute. I’ll make sure you are safe. And to be quite honest, I can’t wait to see you. I missed you. I miss you so much, like I do every moment that we part.

Farewell, for now. I shall make for you a cordial welcome. After all, that’s what a gentleman does.

_“Claire . . . I’ll be right there!”_

_I just ran to you, lying on the grass all bruised and scratched, with your muddied clothes, and approached with caution. I sat next you and rested your head on my lap. You groaned in pain as tears began streaming down your face. I held you close, ever-so-gently. You were trying to speak but I put a finger to your lips. “Claire, not now . . . it’s alright. I’m here.”_

_You held my hand tight—I saw that yours were sore. So I took the medicine from my satchel and gave you a drink, which you took gently. I pressed a cool damp cloth lightly against your cheek, which was bleeding from a graze. You coughed up a little blood. Every now and then you would whimper, and I when I heard you I wanted so much to stop this, to make everything better._

_Finally you were able to open your eyes and you saw me, to your surprise. You wouldn’t stop crying, and at that moment I gave in to my tears as well. We cried together. I wasn’t wounded at all, but strangely I also felt your pain, that grave physical pain. I eased it for you the best that I can. But there was a certain pain I knew I couldn’t fix—the damage, this burden we have shared for the past ten years. The burden you are about to know of._

_It hurt so badly, having to see you like that, time and again. It’s like seeing everything fall apart over and over. I’ve broken long ago, but that moment shattered me once more._

_Because I couldn’t tell you everything just yet; it wasn’t the time. I knew what I had to do, even though I know it wouldn’t be enough to reverse this. To bring everything back. To stop this from happening before it ruins everything and takes over our life together. I knew you would be gone, fade back into the past—ten years ago—and I would be left here again waiting for your return._

_I handed to you the headgear, which I helped you put on. This thing would be the one to save you, my dear. At first it seemed to me like an attempt or a desperate call for divine intervention, but I’ve seen what this had done. If anything, this device was the reason you were able to live._

_“What . . ?.” You tried to ask. I could hear every painful breath that you took._

_“Please, Claire. You have to wear this. Just trust me.” I was surprised I could even speak at that time._

_Then as I continued to give you aid it began—you began to_ fade _._


	3. Chapter 3

**CLAIRE. April 1955—April 1945.**

“Hershel . . . Thank you . . .” I didn’t know if you could hear me, but I said it anyway. Perhaps there was a chance you would, despite my struggle to speak, my numbed lips, and my distraught state of mind. But I wanted you to know, I heard every word you said. And the underlying sense of fear that your words carried.

My chest seared with intense pain, and it heaved me down. As much as I wanted to hold you tight, and be in your embrace, stay that way and never leave, I couldn’t. A wandering essence inside of me, a part of my mind that was flickering as I breathed, prevented me from doing so. After all, my stay in this particular time was meant to be fleeting. I could already feel myself fading back into the rift in between. I shouldn’t be surprised at all.

But still, I asked, _Hershel . . . what is to become of me? Do you know what will happen?_ The look on your face told me that you did. My thoughts were a clutter of doubt and confusion. I was even unsure if I had said that out loud to you, or just put it up somewhere in the back of my mind. Even if I hadn’t, you seemed to know what I was saying. . . Did you? The light in your eyes flared with a kind of dread I had never seen in them.

You tended to my wounds with care, gentleness all too familiar. _Hershel, do you know now why I always insisted you were born a gentleman?_ You probably would smile hearing so if that had not been the situation. All the aching and burning subsided, for a short gratifying moment. At that moment I felt the warmth of being next to you again, and I wondered, _Could this be the last time we would see each other?_

With your unsteady hands, stained with dirt and drips of blood, you took out a headgear similar to what I was wearing just a while ago. I thought maybe it was the same one and that you found it somewhere, but with a careful glance I realized it wasn’t.

“Here, Claire . . .”

“What . . . ?” was the only word I could utter . . .

“Please, Claire. You have to wear this. Just trust me.” Without skipping a beat, Hershel, I knew my entire heart and soul steered towards your trust—it might as well have been a vast field, and I, my entire being, the raincloud that has outpoured itself onto it. It knew no other way.

You made me wear the gear and whispered to me, “Be safe.”

I felt my essence wither, slowly and agonizingly, once more. The world started to blur away—you started to blur away. Like an innocent droplet evaporating into the sky, the rift of time carried me into the infinite ocean that it is.

. . .

Thump. Thump. Beep.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The air I breathed was clean and crisp, as was my vision when I opened my eyes. Instead of a bed of grass and dew I felt layers of soft sheets beneath me. I craned my neck, which still hurt though not as much as it did before. Little by little a hospital room revealed itself before me, with my eyesight adjusting. I inhaled one more time, and then took my time to observe where I was. The light before me was not blinding, nor distorted. The soft ticking of the clock on the bedside table, on which lay the top hat I had given Hershel earlier, became calming, accompanied by a subtle snoring just nearby . . .

Sure enough it was Hershel, sleeping by my bed, his head leaning onto his crossed arms. The sight of him lifted my spirits, everything felt so much lighter, and I breathed with more ease. I reached for him, despite my arm being bound in gauze. I held his hand gently.

Well . . . Everything seemed real, real enough. _And even if it wasn’t entirely, Hershel being here was enough._

And with this contemplation I was able to convince myself of something that was more than enough. . .

I was alive.

. . .

“Careful with Hershel . . . seems he has not gotten enough rest.”

It was Dimitri Allen, standing by with a clipboard in hand. His expression remained grim and mysterious, maybe even more than it usually was. He read through several notes stacked upon each other. He stood there silently, leafing through these papers and turning his attention back and forth from it to another table crowded with devices and medical tools.

“How are you feeling, Claire?”

“Dimitiri,” I replied with as much strength as I could build up my voice with, “Well enough.”

“Well enough . . .” He repeated, nodding to his readings. “Anything else?”

It was silent for a while. The ticking of the clock grew louder every second. Hershel kept still in his sleep, but he barely made a sound now. Dimitri began tapping his pencil against the clipboard. Finally I told him, “I don’t know . . . what happened.”

He shook his head. “Neither do we. Although we’re working on it.”

“How is it so far?” I asked, observing his restlessness.

“Slow. Maybe even held back. But what happened with the machine doesn’t matter.” I noticed the sudden graveness in his tone, and I froze right then. The wounds I had stung once again.

“W-Why?” I heard myself stutter.

Just then Hershel shifted, and in mere seconds he was sitting up, well and awake, yet I saw the disoriented state beneath his composure. He held my hand and leaned closer to me. He planted a kiss on my forehead, and I smiled at him. He looked exhausted—eyes bloodshot and lips chapped, and most of all, there was worry in his voice as he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re safe, my dear.”

“. . . Hershel . . . Thank you so much . . .”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Dimitri placed his clipboard on the table and exited the room. The door thudded loudly as he closed it. I heard partly the muffled conversations he was having with others, presumably doctors and our fellow lab personnel, just outside.

“Claire, just rest for now. Don’t worry about anything,” Hershel continued to whisper. “I’m here for you. I’ll stay here with you.”

“Hershel . . .” My voice trailed off as I remembered what Dimitri said. “Forgive me for asking . . .? What’s wrong? Did something else happen?”

“Ah. . .well, Claire . . .Please don’t worry about that for now. It’ll be alright.” Tears welled up in his weary eyes. His fists were clenched, evidently shaking. An immediate surge of terror found its way through my body, and soon enough I found my chest constricting, lungs struggling to breathe . . . I struggled to think. I couldn’t recall as much but I know something did happen . . . Did I miss anything?

The door opened and Dimitri entered once again, this time looking even more distraught. The doctor followed right behind him, carrying the same clipboard. I turned to Hershel, who responded with a shake of his head. He looked down and kept quiet.

Dimitri spoke. “You see, Claire, your injuries will take only a few more days to recover. You’ll be able to return home soon enough, in fact. But there’s something even more worrisome that this . . .

“We found complications in your structure. It seemed to have been . . . affected by the time machine. It can’t seem to stabilize after the explosion. You were able to make it back to this time, but I’m afraid your body has been triggered to adapt the intermittent nature of the time rift . . .”

The doctor skimmed his notes, then continued what Dimitri was saying. “As of now we are not fully certain; however your body may experience the similar response you’ve had to the time machine. Simply put . . . fade through time.” He cleared his throat. “That may be the worst case scenario. Of course we still need to study possible ways on how to stabilize your system.

“For now, you just need to rest. We have observed a few side effects, but they’re just mild sickness and such. And based on certain patterns, should you fade into a different time once again, it will only be temporary. You should return back to this present time eventually.”

. . .

The rest of what he said gradually blurred out. Hershel’s silhouette was then a mere smudge in my vision. I felt the malaise creep into my head, and in only a few seconds I found myself drifting back to deep sleep.


End file.
